


foreplay before breakfast

by apocryphic



Series: a hundred simple ways [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Post-Recall, Pre-Relationship, Questionable uses of a sword, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphic/pseuds/apocryphic
Summary: As it is, nothing is more honest and conclusive than punching someone. A bullet lies about as often and as well as a sword: never, and not at all.





	foreplay before breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/gifts).



> [tanya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart) and i forged a blood pact to write the same prompt - "good aim, mccree" - but then "sharp objects" got the lowest vote in a poll on "mcgenji kissing..." so BASICALLY i am FURIOUS and NEEDY.
> 
> anyway this was fun 8 ) [GO READ HERS WHILE UR AT IT](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11682660)

It begins with a sleepless night, too much restless energy on their hands, and a training arena that they both knew years before.

Genji sits on the edge of a moving platform, going around and around the space of mismatched rooms and hidden corners, several levels of elevation making it seem less like combat training and more like a maze. His feet hang off the edge of the platform, dangling over the emptiness along the cliffs of the mountainside. It's a long drop if he were to somehow, impossibly, lose his balance.

The platform's looping back to the entrance when he hears the _swish_ of a door and a jingling rhythm that makes it all too easy to recognize who it is that's on their way before they even step out into the open.

Genji purposefully taps metal-tipped fingers against the surface of the platform like he's knocking a door, loud enough to be heard plainly. When Genji's platform rounds the corner, McCree's already looking up expectantly. He tips his hat and leans against one of the faux buildings scattered across the arena underneath the platform's perimeter.

"Fancy meeting you here."

The lilt at the end that betrays him, and Genji cannot help but smile. McCree's grin around his cigar is genuine enough. Still; Genji notes the swoop of dark bruising beneath his eyes, not quite hidden by the shadow of his hat.

It's well into the hours of the morning that most should be asleep. _Fancy meeting you here?_ Genji could say the same to him.

Instead, he slips off the side of the platform once it's a few feet to the side of McCree and lands lightly in a crouch. He knows better than to ask why McCree is awake, and McCree knows better than to ask him, so he does nothing more than keep it in mind.  

"If you want to practice, I must apologize," Genji says as he straightens. "I believe I exhausted our supply of spare parts for Athena to rebuild the bots."

McCree whistles and pushes off from where he's leaning. "You busted up that many? How long'd it take you?"

Genji first pretends to count on his fingers, but drops his hands after not more than a couple seconds. "Half an hour."

"Well, damn."

McCree shuffles, pursing his lips thoughtfully. This close, his exhaustion is clearer. His brows are knitted together and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes seem heavier. His shoulders look weighty as he rolls them back, like they're tied down and dragging. He tosses the cigar to the ground and stomps it out with a heel.

The filters in Genji's helmet don't quite manage to get the smell of the smoke out of the air he breathes, but he doesn't mind it.

Altogether, he does look like he's come to the training arena to do exactly that: train. He has no flashbangs on him, which is sensible considering the bots are not terribly bothered by that sort of thing. Genji only has a single sword with him opposed to his usual loadout.

It seems like an equal enough matchup. All he has to do is...

"I can make it up to you," Genji offers.

He's rewarded with a raised brow and a pause, McCree's deliberation silent but not unhappy.

"Training bots don't do it for you?" McCree asks finally.

"Hm." Genji tilts his head as if contemplating. "I think you could do it better."

McCree laughs, a quick exhale of air that's almost startled, and follows him.

They head to one of the more open spaces within the training area, littered with bits of tech here and there from Genji's previous half-hour spree. He kicks the truly troublesome pieces out of their way, metal gleaming as it skitters from sight. McCree follows suit, even if he isn't going to be the one who has to watch his step. Genji knows full-well that the other man has the advantage here, but that makes it all the more exciting.

They've done this a hundred times and then some. They were both cracked at the edges and fighting each other was better than any other alternative. Both of them knew when to let up or when to push. Genji was as intimately acquainted with the sound of McCree landing on his back and saying _uncle_ as much as he was with the glitter in McCree's eyes that came with spying an opening in his defenses.

It wasn't as if they hadn't spent time talking, too, trying to maneuver around each other and figure out what the word _familiar_ really meant — but sparring was where they were allowed to be honest. Words were a funny thing for Genji then, more often cutting than not. And while McCree had shrugged it off or fired back, there was sometimes a touch of insincerity in his voice. McCree was not a bad man, Genji knew very well that he wasn't. But Jesse McCree was good at twisting things, and Genji was curious as to whether he even knew he did it at times.

As it is, nothing is more honest and conclusive than punching someone. A bullet lies about as often and as well as a sword: never, and not at all.

"You still like leading with your left to trip me up?" McCree calls, breezy, across from Genji, a distance and more away.

"Am I that predictable?"

"Naw." McCree ruffles his serape outward and aims a grin at him. "I just pay you more mind than most."

It's the flutter of his serape that acts as a red flag; as the cloth is carried upwards by the motion, Genji spies the twitch of McCree's fingers, heading straight for Peacekeeper. In an instant he draws his sword, angles it down, and he feels the impact in his arms as the bullet ricochets into the floor between them. The sound of the gunshot echoes louder and longer than the ringing of his blade.

"You have gotten faster," Genji marvels, sliding into a more obvious stance.

"That mean you ain't gonna go easy on me?" McCree replies, no longer grinning, though there's a quiet interest in his voice that does not waver. He whips Peacekeeper to the side to open the cylinder in a practiced motion, sliding another bullet in.

"Of course not." Genji flexes his grip on his sword. "It is not your feelings I am trying to hurt."

"Charming."

The _click_ is the warning this time, and Genji darts to the side as McCree pulls the trigger again. Not a second later, and his left arm would have been rendered useless for the rest of the fight. Genji has to deflect another bullet in his next dodge, and another when he comes out of a dive and knows moving again will take milliseconds too long, his visor alerting him left and right to where the danger comes next.

He keeps count. Three more shots and McCree will have to pause. Then it will be _his_ turn to return fire.

There is no cover, really, unless Genji can manage to lead him elsewhere — to close quarters or a location that's more than just a flat surface, but McCree isn't a sheep to herd and wouldn't follow blindly. He would know better. Genji can't afford to draw his shurikens instead of his sword, either — without it, he would be left with no way to deflect the bullets that he can't avoid.

It's fine. Genji likes a decent challenge, and McCree is one of few who can provide one for him.

Genji sways to the side to move from the next shot, McCree telegraphing his aim too obviously — but Genji knows he's making an error when he dodges, knows McCree knows too, and knows what's coming next, the shift of weight leaving his heels still on the ground when McCree points the revolver lower.

He does manage to pull his foot up in time, but his prediction doesn't save him entirely. His ankle is grazed with an ugly sound and Genji frowns at it like it's personally offended him, an ugly streak across the surface of his armor proof that McCree has managed at least something of worth.

It was also only his fifth shot.

Genji ducks on instinct and feels the bullet chip the armor there, almost clipping one of the vents with a strained, metallic _ding!_ that Genji likes to hear from bots but not from himself. It's a good shot and if he didn't know McCree's habits so well, it might have done more than just surface damage.

But that's six, and that's Genji's chance.

It nags at him, in the moment before he leaps through the space separating them — McCree isn't aiming for anything that would bring the fight to an end too soon; he isn't trying to win, yet there is no restraint in each trigger pull. No, he's not sabotaging his own efforts for Genji's benefit.

McCree simply wants this to last.

(Genji feels a pang of sympathy and wonders if perhaps he will want to talk about what is keeping him from sleep after this.)

The dash takes him all the way up to McCree, and then there's metal fingers gripping over his own and McCree _twists_ until his visor flashes a warning for possible dislocation. Genji slams his knee into McCree's stomach, wrenches himself free as his arm protests and turns the wrong _wrong_ direction —

but his fingers slip but McCree's don't, snatching a better hold onto the handle just to fling it one way

— and then McCree uses his momentum against him, shoving him away from where the sword is sailing through the air, stumbling back on the defense when Genji grabs at him and misses Peacekeeper by a hair's breadth.

The clatter of his sword calls Genji to cast his attention past McCree, seeing where exactly it falls onto the ground. He's only feet away from McCree now, but they both know it's only a heartbeat away if Genji wants to close that distance.

Neither of them move.

"You didn't reload," Genji says.

McCree heaves a breath. Drops his shoulders. His voice gives nothing away as he asks, "You sure about that?"

No. He's not sure. Peacekeeper is still in McCree's hand. He might have been busy fending Genji off from close-quarters, but he's good at sleight of hand, and Genji wasn't paying close enough attention to read the usual tells. His visor hides his line of sight as he looks past him once more, all the way to the blade waiting for him.

Genji doesn't know if McCree has bullets at the ready or not, but if he stands here like a fool for much longer, he'll find out.

"Guess you're not," McCree says, and aims Peacekeeper.

Genji dives for it.

He knows, objectively, that he's faster than McCree. The most reliable upper hand McCree has on him in close quarters is exactly that — his metal hand — and everything else, as far as agility goes, belongs to Genji. So he knows, and expects, to reach his blade in time, to deflect what needs to be deflected, to carry on the fight or to close it out, depending on the result.

But he is _almost_ not quick enough. That, in and of itself, is remarkably impressive.

Genji's fingers close around the handle of his sword, careful not to overdo it and go tumbling forward any further. He turns, all his weight in his toes.

McCree's eye flashes, he spots Genji's opening —

There's a bang, there's the quick flash-drag of steel and the barely-there, nearly-gone gleam of a bullet hitting the metal of his blade, and there's a moment where Genji is not completely sure where the shot's ended up, the pads of his fingers tingling, sensitive.

A little tendril of smoke wafts up from the side of McCree's hat. The brim has a new uneven edge to add to the mix.

"Good aim, McCree," Genji muses appreciatively, the grin beneath his visor slow and steady.

McCree lifts fingers up to pinch at the smoking brim of his hat with a frown.

Genji doesn't give him another chance to be ready for him.

It doesn't last too much longer, McCree already hitting the upper limit of how well he can deal with Genji's unrelenting strikes while on such little sleep. In the end, Genji hits him twice in the ribs, twists his left arm around his back, and tosses him handily to the floor before brandishing his sword from its sheath once again.

McCree chokes out a loud cough. Genji puts his heel against his chest and lowers his blade, leaving it only inches from McCree's face. He knows better than to let him pull something dirty, after all the times they've fought in the past. Better to be certain.

"That was close," Genji says, not unkindly. He shifts. Places his foot less on McCree's chest and more on his collarbone.

He presses down with his toes.

McCree's breath hitches.

Genji hums, only once.

"Not close enough, huh?" McCree remarks after a second, still sounding a bit winded. He doesn't move outside of reaching up to grasp Genji's ankle, studying where the bullet had grazed him earlier.

"Not quite."

Genji's still while McCree holds onto him, watching the flex of his forearm as he moves his hand this way and that. The armor is in the way; he can feel nothing outside of McCree's hand sliding up to his calf as if to get a better grip.

"You look very tired, Jesse," Genji tells him. Something in him yearns to preserve this moment, the faint sparks along his spine that have nothing to do with artificial nerves, but it has to be said.

"I'd say the same, but," McCree answers, and does not go on.

His eyes flick up to Genji's visor. Genji waits.

McCree makes a noncommittal noise and drops his hand after a moment, but not without lifting his left arm to brush metal fingers against the weapon dangling over his throat, so softly that it barely moves the sword at all. Genji lets the sharp tip of the blade dip a little closer to the hollow of his throat, layers beneath the serape tangled on top of him.

"If I make you stay there, could you fall asleep?" Genji asks, voice sidling towards teasing.

"I'd ask real politely that you don't." McCree shrugs as best as he can with his position. "My back'd riot like hell."

Ah, yes. They are older now. Older and wiser, and both better and worse for it.

"Ask politely, then," says Genji.

It takes a second and then McCree's hat starts falling off his head the rest of the way while he arches upward, hair wild underneath, chin tilting up, and his mouth touches lightly to the tip of the blade, lips pursed.

Genji stares.

The sharp edge presses at McCree's lower lip dangerously, like a hint rather than a promise of pain, but Genji does not push his sword and McCree does not push his luck. In fact, Genji does not even breathe to keep his hand as motionless as possible, but it isn't hard to stay so still while he takes in every bit of what he's looking at.

McCree drops back against the floor but not without raising his right hand once more — the serape slips, movement catches Genji's eye, silver and gleaming, a snap of movement to the side, a practiced motion, a _click_ more familiar than the pounding in his chest —

Peacekeeper is aimed upwards at Genji, trained on his visor. McCree's metal hand makes a vice around Genji's ankle.

Static flickers down Genji's spine again.

" _Please_ ," McCree says like something so sweet it might very well kill you.

Genji can't move his foot, so he moves the sword, flipping it around and back into its sheath fluidly. McCree's finger is not on the trigger, and even if it was, he knows McCree would not pull it.

But he made his point all the same.

"Charming," Genji says. He watches carefully as McCree empties Peacekeeper of bullets once more, one-handed, then tucks the gun into the holster.

The hand on his ankle still has not moved — McCree's fingers find the circle that is empty of armor on the back of his leg, above his heel. The small opening gives way to the synthetic flesh and muscle sinew, and he presses two fingers against the fibers.

"I do try," says McCree, demure.

Genji digs his toes down harder against McCree's collar.

"Hey, now," he protests with his chin tilted high as Genji's laugh signals the end of the fight. McCree lets him go and Genji rubs distractedly at the mark left behind from the bullet on his shoulder before offering McCree a hand.

McCree takes it, tugged upwards with little effort on Genji's part.

And Genji looks at him for a long moment, silent, wondering once more.

"The kitchen is probably empty at this hour," he starts.

"Probably," agrees McCree. He reaches down to grab his hat, dusting it off with a couple swats, peering closely at the new almost-hole in it.

"We could make an early breakfast."

McCree's gaze falls on him and Genji is quiet, letting him look his fill. There is a question there, behind the glint of skepticism in his eyes that is there and gone again. Genji would answer it, if he would only ask.

"May as well," McCree says. "Nothin' better to do, seeing as we both lost."

Genji nudges him lightly with his shoulder as they fall into step with each other. "A stalemate is not a loss. It is…" He glances to the side, waiting until McCree glances back. "A _compromise_."

McCree blinks and pauses, huffs a laugh and turns his head away. "I guess so."

He lights a cigar before they leave the training arena. Genji leans closer, just enough to catch the scent of the smoke that eases its way past him.

 


End file.
